


Nick Fury Cheats at Cards

by infiniteeight



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Meeting, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Tattoos, no one is a SHIELD agent, puns, sorry there aren't any actual cards in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 15:13:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteeight/pseuds/infiniteeight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick tricks Phil into a date with a friend of his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nick Fury Cheats at Cards

It spoke of how sneaky Nick Fury was that Phil had no idea that he was being set up until the waiter came by their table to take their order and Nick informed the man that they were waiting for somemore. Phil waited until the waiter refilled their water glasses and stepped away from the table before leveling a glare at Nick. "I thought this was just a dinner between friends."

"It is," Nick said unrepentantly. "You're my friend. Clint's my friend. The fact that I think you two will get on like a house on fire is just a happy accident."

Phil's shoulders slumped tiredly. "Nick, how many times have I told you I'm not interested in dating anymore? I'm sick of disappointing people. I didn't expect you, of all people, to screw with me like this."

"I swear I'm not fucking with you, Phil," Nick said. "Look, you might not want to date, but you and I both know you want a relationship. You're no good at being alone, and you've been along a long time. Trust me, just once, okay? If this doesn't work out, I will never set you up again, because if Clint isn't perfect for you, then I don't know anyone who is."

Shaking his head in resignation, Phil made himself straighten up. "If he's so perfect, why didn't you suggest him when I _was_ willing to date?"

Nick relaxed and reached out to snag a roll from the basket of bread in the center of the table. "He was still an active duty Marine until two months ago," he explained. "I knew you didn't want a partner who was going to be deployed more than he was home. But he's out, now. Honorable, of course."

"Why'd he leave?" Phil asked, curious despite himself.

"Wanted to train for the Olympics," Nick said, grinning.

Phil rolled his eyes. "Seriously."

Nick laughed. "I am serious! Swear to God. He wants to go to the Olympics. Archery. I've seen him with a bow, Phil; they're not gonna know what hit 'em."

Phil was still watching Nick suspiciously when the man caught sight of someone over Phil's shoulder and straightened up, lifting a hand to beckon him over. Phil twisted in his chair to get a look.

Jesus. Phil could believe the guy was an archer with arms and shoulders like that. He was wearing combat boots, black cargo pants, and a grey t-shirt that stretched tight across his chest, shoulders, and biceps. His nose was a bit crooked, and his sandy blond hair had been gelled into a mess of spikes. Hairstyle aside, he wasn't a kid; there was some experience weathered into the lines of his face. A quiet heat bloomed in the pit of Phil's stomach, and he cursed himself for the instant attraction. The disappointment always hurt more when Phil was interested.

The guy, Clint, wasn't looking at Phil yet. He'd caught sight of Nick and waved back, grinning. The smile lit up his face. He reached their table and Nick stood for a moment to grab Clint's hand and pull him into a back-slapping hug. "Good to see you, Hawk," Nick said. He pulled back and raised his eyebrows. "Shit, are your shoulders bigger? What the fuck?"

Clint laughed and flexed with a smirk. The heat in Phil's belly grew. "What, you think I was gonna kick back and take it easy when I got out? Like hell. I've been on the range every goddamned day, making sure my baby knows I love her."

Nick rolled his eyes and waved Clint towards one of the free chairs at their table as he returned to his seat. "You are too attached to that bow of yours, Barton."

"Everyone's gotta have a passion," Clint said cheerfully as he claimed a seat.

"Yeah, yeah. Clint Barton," Nick said, looking at Phil, apparently remembering his manners, "this is Phil Coulson."

Phil braced himself. It's not that he thought he was ugly; he'd had enough dates call him cute to know it wasn't that bad. But when a friend talked you up for a blind date, it raised expectations, and hopes, and no one was really hoping for a slightly ordinary, fifty-year-old guy with thinning hair, even if they decided he wasn't so bad later. To make matters worse, Phil hadn't known this was going to turn into a date, so he hadn't dressed for one. He was still wearing the navy blue slacks and pale blue dress shirt he'd worn to class that morning, though he'd undone the top two buttons and rolled his sleeves up to the elbows. He felt at once too formal and too disheveled.

Clint turned to him and held out a hand over the table even as he unashamedly checked Phil out. His hand was rough with calluses, both in the locations made by a gun--familiar even though Phil had been out of the Rangers for years--and in other places that Phil chalked up to the archery. His hand was also a bit bigger than Phil's, which sent an unexpected jolt of enjoyment through him. When Clint finished his visual sweep, he caught Phil's eye and smiled and fuck, that was kind of a dirty smile, and he was stroking his thumb over the back of Phil's hand and suddenly Phil felt hot all over. "I confess," Clint said, still holding onto his hand, "I didn't believe Nick when he said you were just my type. I stand corrected."

Phil felt his face flush even as the anxiety drained out of him. The corner of his mouth turned up and he arched an eyebrow. "Are you always this blunt?"

"Pretty much," Clint said cheerfully. He finally let go of the handshake, but not without giving Phil's hand another stroke with his thumb. "In my experience, it's hard enough to get what you want out of life without making everyone guess at it. Better to put all your cards on the table and see who wants to play."

"And which game is it that we're playing?" Phil asked, leaning back in his chair.

Clint leaned forward, eyes sparkling. "Well, I walked in on a game of Blind Man's Bluff, but now I'm kind of hoping for a round of Hearts."

Phil laughed and wagged a finger at Clint. God, he'd forgotten how fun it was to flirt when he wasn't worried about selling himself. "Maybe try a hand of Bridge first."

"Better Bridge than Go Fish," Clint said, undiscouraged. He tilted his head slightly and Phil found himself leaning forward without thinking. "But if you actually play Bridge, you're gonna have to teach me, because the guys in my unit were all about Poker."

"Actual Poker?" Phil asked playfully, "Or metaphorical 'poke 'er'?"

Clint choked and ducked his head, laughing. "Dirty mind, Phil! Both, though. Good guys, all of 'em, and they never gave me shit for being gay, but thanks to those foul mouthed dickheads I know more about what a straight guy gets down to between a woman's legs than I ever wanted to."

"You ever give them a taste of their own medicine?" Phil asked. "Or was that a little too far?"

"I would've," Clint sighed. "But it's been too long since I had any details to embroider."

The words slipped out before Phil could catch them. "I find that hard to believe."

"Well!" Phil startled, head jerking around to find Nick grinning at the two of them. "I think my work here is done," he said smugly, standing. "Enjoy your dinner, and I promise not to call too early in the morning, but I will be calling."

"Nick!" Phil protested, but his friend just laughed him off and waved to the waiter as he left. Phil slowly turned back to Clint, suddenly afraid that the man had only been putting on a show for their mutual friend.

But when he caught Clint's eye again, the he looked hopeful. "I know you weren't expecting a date," Clint said, "but the puns didn't send you running, so I'm kinda hoping you're willing to give it a chance."

"The puns are actually a point in your favor," Phil admitted. "Most people don't joke with me."

"Seriously? Why not?"

Phil shrugged. "I teach history. I think I come across dry and academic."

"You've got those and they don't wonder?" Clint nodded down at Phil's forearms.

He actually looked down; he'd forgotten he'd rolled his sleeves up, and his tattoos were showing. A long string of letters and Roman numerals spiraled up his left forearm from the wrist, continuing on under the sleeve that sat just below his elbow. On the right forearm a stylized figure stood on the shoulders of three men, each of them down one knee, their hands steadying the figure's feet as it stretched out a hand toward a cluster of stars. All four faces were turned up to that sky.

"I don't roll my sleeves up much," Phil said. "I doubt any of my colleagues have seen them, and I know my students haven't." He reached for his sleeves automatically, but Clint laid his fingertips on Phil's forearm. They were four warm, tingling points of contact. Phil licked his lips.

"I've got some ink of my own," Clint said. "You wanna see?"

Phil's mouth went dry. "Yeah."

Clint smiled and slowly pulled his hand back, reaching up to shove the short sleeve of his shirt up to expose his shoulder. A hawk in flight curved around the solid muscle. "Guys in my unit called me Hawkeye," he said.

"Oh? Where'd that come from?" Phil asked, folding his arms on the table and leaning forward.

"I'm a sniper," Clint explained, letting the t-shirt fall down to cover the tattoo again. He mirrored Phil's position; the backs of their hands brushed at the middle of the table. "And my eyes are really fucking good. Half the time I didn't even use a scope. The guys said I had eyes like a hawk, and it stuck."

"And you obviously liked it," Phil said, smiling ruefully. "If only we were all that lucky."

Clint's eyebrows arched. "Oh? Did your buddies stick you with a crappy call sign?"

"If by 'buddies', you mean Nick, then yes." Phil rolled his eyes when Clint just waited expectantly, but caved like he'd known he would when he brought it up. "Cheese."

It was hard to regret revealing that bit of embarrassment when it made Clint laugh like that. His eyes sparkled and his shoulders shook and light seemed to radiate off him. "Where the hell did he get that?" he asked when the chuckles had calmed.

Phil had a standard answer for that. "Philadelphia Cream Cheese. Phil. Cheese." He shrugged. 

Clint narrowed his eyes and waved a finger at Phil. "Nuh uh. That's not it. That's a line. Spit it out, Cheese."

Heat crept up Phil's neck and pinked his cheeks. "I may have attempted to give an inspiring speech," he confessed. "Or two. When you're a rookie so green you can see your reflection in your boots, those come across pretty..."

"Cheesy," Clint finished, grinning. "And Nick never let you forget it."

"More than twenty years later and he still trots the name out occasionally." Phil shook his head. "Says it's his job as my friend to ride herd on my ego."

"You may have noticed," Clint said dryly, "That Nick is kind of a jackass."

Phil laughed. "A good friend, though."

"Even when he tricks you into a date?"

Hesitating, Phil took a long look at Clint. He seemed engaged, leaning forward a bit, the menu neglected at his elbow even though their server would surely be back to take their order soon. Phil gathered up his courage in both hands. "Maybe especially when he tricks me into a date."

Clint beamed. "So you said you teach history," he said. "What kind?"

Phil couldn't help the surge of excitement at the idea of sharing his passion.

Damn it, he was going to have to allow Nick an 'I told you so'.

~!~


End file.
